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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042650">Loud as a whisper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme'>StormXPadme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Hook, BDSM, Body Modification, Breathplay, Come as Lube, Cumshot, Dubious Consent, First Age, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mouth Sewn Shut, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War of Wrath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, Torture, sauron is not having a good time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:42:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron's plea for pardoning with Eönwë doesn't quite go as planned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eönwë/Sauron | Mairon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Loud as a whisper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/chokingonwhys/gifts">chokingonwhys</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Created out of a tumblr meme of dialogue writing prompts by mywoesaregranular/chokingonwhys; prompt: "If you turn your back on me again, you better be bending over.”</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“If you turn your back on me again, you better be bending over.”</p><p>It’s not serious enough a threat to do as much as flinch, but even at the best of times, Eönwë‘s voice is like claws on rock. After a few decades of non-stop screaming his owner’s battle commands, the other Maia seems to have trouble speaking up loud enough even to drown out the buzz of packing and leaving in the camp outside, or the cackling of the fire in the tent corne.</p><p>Not that there’s a word in any language either of them speaks, loud enough to keep him here, but for a moment, Mairon almost feels something like pity. It’s been an exhausting war for all of them.</p><p> </p><p>Now that he’s got his answer, the kindest he can do for his old friend is leave this accommodation as secretly as he’s entered it, and wish all of those blind fools a happy life while he himself tries to find something to fill the void that losing his master has left.</p><p>“My my, little needy, aren’t we?” The amusement in his snort, he doesn’t need to fake. Something clenches in his stomach when he turns away and hears - senses - Eönwë move. <em>Really</em>. As if Manwë’s most obedient laptop actually means to make good on his ridiculous threat.</p><p>There has been a time when Eönwë wouldn’t have laid hand on an enemy if they gutted blood relatives before his eyes, but this conversation has already been a lot harder than Mairon had expected. Maybe he’ll have to consider drawing his sword again to get out of here after all.</p><p>Just when he’s been really ready to put it down. For a little while, at least.</p><p>He decides to test the waters first, because truth is, Eönwë has always been a lot of fun and he wouldn’t want to harm him if he doesn’t have to. “Wait, you’re being serious right now? Are you telling me <em>that’s</em> my way back into the favor of the powers that are? All you had to do was say so. I’ve always enjoyed our little … encounters.”</p><p>His own voice is pure, molten silk when he looks back over his shoulder, searching the well-known chocolate colored eyes of his old lover with the narrow emeralds he’s chosen for this new, extremely fair form. Maybe it’s time to see if that perfectly formed body, a cascade of copper curls and a charming timber akin to the one of Melian’s daughter herself is as effective as hoped.</p><p>He’s done worse to get himself out of tight spots.</p><p> </p><p>Eönwë, unfortunately, doesn’t bat a lid. Only by a few faintly glistening drops of salt on his narrow forehead and the slightest shift of weight on his steel-covered legs, he gives away that it’s not only contempt he regards Mairon’s current form with from head to toe when Mairon slowly approaches him, hips swinging from side to side.</p><p>“I’m not taking you anywhere unless as a prisoner. I thought I was pretty clear about that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but are you sure? In the Valar’s prison, how can I do <em>this</em>?”</p><p>Mairon is smoothly on his knees before the other can reach him with his arm, or his fist, before he can try to shove him away, to grab him, to take him as a slave, to set him free, who can tell? Mairon is very determined to have his lover passed out from exhaustion and maybe the right song in the perfect, unguarded moment, before he’ll actually make up his mind, and be far from here before he wakes up again.</p><p>Neither of the host apparently had time yet to do as much as bathe their chosen mortal form after the fighting, so Mairon spares an impatient second to hum away grim and blood after he’s ripped cord and leather from Eönwë’s strong hips. By that time, his former lover is already hard, and Mairon allows himself a second to relish in memory when the well-known hint of sea-salt hits his tongue. He swallows him down as far as he can - Eönwë isn’t equipped half as massively as Mairon’s last lordly lover, but this new form is untouched as of yet. He’s still going to have to train it even the simplest tricks. Long, slender artist fingers massage and grope, pushing under the ridges of metal plating to soothe sore muscles, clenching down on sensitive skin that has rubbed against horseback for too long. When he swallows, hard, and his tongue reaches out to fondle heavy balls, he earns a first moan.</p><p>“See? That’s so much better, isn’t it? Is it just me or does killing make you <em>really</em> needy?”</p><p>It’s a split second, just a hint of gloating on his lips, that is his undoing. He’s just drawn back to smirk up at his lover and wants to move his head forward again when a touch of metal encases his wrist.</p><p>“What the …?”</p><p>In his surprise, he makes the wrong move when he should have made the right one and yanks his arms back instead of using his teeth or a well-aimed fist on sensitive parts. Too late, too little. Before he knows, the other wrist is cuffed too, in thin, almost insultingly slender metal that has a faint, strange glow to it though.</p><p>He feels it before he can open his mouth for even a single tone to free himself, every power sapping from this form, of song, of creation, of shaping, of <em>control</em>, until his physical body is little more than a tired excuse of a Firstborn. A chain clicks, connecting his cuffs, while he’s still busy gasping for air in confusion, yanking on the metal in a first stupid reaction of blind panic.</p><p> </p><p>Then a leather-clad hand grabs his jaw, forcing him to look up, and the amused and still very much turned on glistening in his lover’s eyes finally has Mairon realize how much he’s been played ever since entering this tent.</p><p>“No … Pretty sure, it’s just you.”</p><p>An immensely strong hand yanks Mairon up by that damn chain, a bear hug immobilizing his wrists that he stands no chance against, suddenly so weakened. He growls warningly when a familiar full pair of lips is suddenly way too close to his and bares his teeth, ready to bite, but his lover is ahead of him a second time, catching his lower lip between just a little too sharp canines, with enough strength to draw blood.</p><p>“Now, that’s for getting your mouth where it doesn’t belong without permission.”</p><p>Eönwë turns him around, moving his suddenly so frail form as easily as one would handle a Secondborn, and half-walks, half-drags him over to his desk, easily ignoring every of Mairon’s attempts of freeing himself.</p><p> </p><p>Before Mairon knows, he’s bent over unforgiving massive wood; two impatiently hummed notes later, his chains are connected to a hook in the floor.</p><p>Well, fuck.</p><p>His glorious escape plan seems to require a lot of improvising suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>“And these …”</p><p>With a clearly delighted, almost gleeful smile, Eönwë waves two more sets of chains in front of Mairon’s face.</p><p>“These are a little gift of your old master. Aulë’s been forced to put up with your tricks long enough back then, to know exactly how to rein you in. And he’s one of those who were very encouraging about teaching you a little lesson about fatal allegiances if I get half a chance. So don’t bother trying. Your powers are no match for anything I have on me to keep you down.”</p><p>As if the other could see right behind the anger flaming behind Mairon’s eyes, a heavy, huge hand is put over his mouth and nose before he can do as much as open his lips to spit. The other is buried deeply in his hair, keeping his head in place, and suddenly, the air in his lungs get very tight.</p><p>“Not a good idea.”</p><p>Eönwë‘s cave troll-like voice only reaches Mairon’s wake spirit very faintly all of a sudden as he struggles and chokes, colors dancing in front of his wide-open eyes, his lung burning with the lack of air just like his lips are burning from the unforgiving pressure.</p><p>“I wanted to spare you this. I told you. All you had to do was surrender. But you always thought you were too smart for well-meant advice, as we all know.”</p><p>There’s a dark glow in the blackness that is Eönwë‘s eyes now, just a hint of something that is not half as honorable and surely not as sanctioned by his Lords and his comrades as every other horseshit motive he’s trying to sell Mairon here. Fucker is still rock hard, he hasn’t even bothered to cover himself up after dropping his play. And his wolfish grin grows more with every second that Mairon has a harder time to keep his consciousness.</p><p> </p><p>Where he should have been angry, plotting revenge already, coming up with all the details on how to get back on the bastard as soon as he’ll have freed himself, Mairon finds he would have laughed out loud if he could do as much as wheeze right now. War makes monsters of everyone, whether they like it or not. He hasn’t even needed to lift a finger this time to corrupt one of them.</p><p>He has a witty remark on his lips about how little Manwë will appreciate it, hearing about his beloved herald torturing and assaulting prisoners like a primitive <em>man</em>, when Eönwë finally takes his hand away, but when he tries to open his mouth, nothing but sharp pain on the edges of his lips ensues. While his ears have been ringing from his struggle no to die, Eönwë has sung his mouth shut.</p><p> </p><p>“You have talked more than enough for this Age, slave of Morgoth.” The other Maia pats his head when he glares at him in shock and disbelief, almost like an afterthought, and then picks up the chains again, and a dagger from his belt.</p><p> </p><p>Mairon does his best to kick and rear up, but of course, Eönwë is faster, and dislocating both his shoulder won’t do him any good for whatever plan to get out of here he’ll come up next with. Richly embroidered silk falls off his helpless body in layers until he’s as bare as his soul feels without the shield of his powers. More metal around his ankles, fastened to more hooks in the ground, until he’s complete immobilized, spread out shamefully before his captor, robbed even of the possibility to tell the bastard how much he’ll enjoy gutting him and devouring his heart for this.</p><p> </p><p>“Better.” Another absent-feeling but much stronger slap comes down on his ass, making him flinch and groan because without any protection of clothing, his most sensitive parts are pressed right against the sharp desk edge now, and every wrong move will leave nasty marks.</p><p>A sound of skin on skin is next, of quick strokes, hectic panting, without much lust or urge, it really seems more like a task to get rid of unwanted energy more than anything else.</p><p> </p><p>In spite of everything, it stings Mairon’s pride that he’s not even allowed to watch his old lover get off.</p><p>As much as he hates the situation, he’s got himself in here, he’s got to give Eönwë creativity and composure points, and he’s always had a huge competence kink. Maybe he’ll actually fuck him a last time before he kills him, who knows.</p><p>For the moment, Mairon is the one who can just take it, with burning cheeks and whimpering in the back of his throat in both disgust and forbidden, shameful arousal when Eönwë huffs out a last moan and comes all over his naked ass, thick, large spurts of seed painting his newly-untouched hole.</p><p>He doesn’t realize he’s let himself fool again, thinking his lover was merely seeking some quick release, until a first thick, still gloved finger breaches him, rough seams scraping his insides, the quick, burning stretch having him twitch and shake his head in protest. He is ignored, of course, and even the sizable load of a Maia doesn’t make for enough lube to help much, once there’s three digits impaling him, the occasional, casual tap against his prostate nothing more than a yearning, desperate spark of heat in his groin.</p><p>Somehow, Mairon manages to groan his displeasure through his sealed mouth and is rewarded with another hard slap, on the other side this time.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, dear. I have no interest taking you.“</p><p>The fingers withdraw, finally, but Mairon is not so sure he should regard that as mercy, feeling a huge, ice-cold bulb press against his irritated hole next. He has no time considering tensing up before it slips in, slowly but without stopping, drawing more than one scream from his throat before the toy’s curved size settles thickly inside his channel. The ball at the end pressing towards his spine, the heavy weight misses his prostate just by an inch, the long base smugly pillowed between his cheeks.</p><p>“No, my dear, there’s other plans for you. I just have you here for safekeeping.” An almost scornful kiss is pressed to his back, right above the toy, followed by a bite that has Mairon tighten up instinctively, followed by a pitiful moan when the hook stimulates all the wrong places inside of him.</p><p> </p><p>His head is swimming with anger, with just that annoying touch of unfulfilled desire, with a chaos of useless thoughts about how to get out of this tent as quickly as possible, so he can’t quite comprehend as first when his messed-up hair is gathered back almost lovingly, braided firmly by large hands. For a moment, he thinks, maybe Eönwë is trying to take pity on him after all. He’d have to rip his eyes out for it next chance he gets for that of course, but it wouldn’t be unwelcome right now. Maybe his old lover remembers a bit of that the kindness of many nights spent naked on a fur in Mairon’s forge eons ago …</p><p>But then he realizes that the bastard is working a leather strap into his braid that is connected to the end of the hook. With every tug and pull, Mairon is forced to lean his head back further until his neck hurts and he can almost look his tormentor in the eye. Even the smallest movement on his head yanks painfully on the toy inside of him now, and his throat is openly exposed to whoever comes here next with a primeval lust for revenge.</p><p>He’s going to kill the bastard <em>slowly</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Be good.“ A last slap to his stuffed ass, right against the toy, almost has Mairon black out from too many painful, unsatisfying sensations.</p><p>When he opens his eyes again, he’s alone.</p>
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